In mid-afternoon, the Yankees had pushed us to within a half-mile of the field hospital. Our small group joined Harrison, who had again assumed command of the Rangers. Over two hundred cavalrymen gathered with him near the hospital.
“Enemy troops behind us,” Billy reported. “Both cavalry and infantry coming. The road is straight and open but bordered by fallen timbers.”
“All right,” Harrison said. “Form your men with the rest and get them ready.” He positioned his cavalry in a slight depression that hid them from the enemy. The major rode to the rise and stared down the road.
Harrison had to order an attack because of the hospital behind us. I tossed the Springfield into the mud. I checked my pistols and shotgun and advised men around me to do the same.
Harrison trotted to the front. “We have to stop them here. Otherwise, they’ll overrun our rear. Everyone get ready.”
I pictured the Confederates the Yankees had killed in the last few days, rotting in the mud. Maybe now we would get even with the sons of bitches. My shoulder muscles bunched. Focusing on the crest we had to ride over, I waited for the order to charge.
***On the other end of the road by the fallen timbers, Lieutenant Winslow followed behind Brigadier General William Tecumseh “Cump” Sherman, who rode in front of the Illinois cavalry. Although Sherman had been surprised, embarrassed, and beaten on the first day of battle, Buell had reinforced him. From then on his Union forces had whipped the Rebs.
Sherman held up his hand to signal a halt. He spoke to his cavalry commander. “Colonel Dickey, we’re closing in for the kill. Make sure your men are ready to charge when the skirmishers have solid contact.”
Win had recovered from his scare on Sunday, when he thought the Rebels would run right over him. Dickey’s regiment had retreated with the rest of Grant’s army. Then the Colonel led them to beat back the gray-clad enemy troops. They were about to whip them again.
He turned to O’Kelly. “Sergeant, pass the word to ready carbines.”
***As I stroked the piebald’s neck to calm its prancing, the jangle of bits mixed in with hoofbeats signaled cavalry approaching.
Forrest rode up to the Ranger column with forty of his Tennessee troopers. “What’s the situation, Major?” Harrison saluted. “We’ve got a line of skirmishers coming up the road. My scouts tell me there’s a cavalry regiment and more Yanks behind them. They haven’t spotted our force yet. I recommend it’s good ground to stop them right here.”
“Prepare your men. I’ll lead the charge.” Forrest turned to give his Tennesseans instructions.
Harrison positioned himself in front of the Rangers. “Men, we’ve got a chance to pay back some of the beating we’ve taken over the last few days. We’re going to charge the Yanks. We’ll go on Colonel Forrest’s command. Get your shotguns ready. Ride right up to the infantry and stop twenty paces short, then blow the hell out of them.”
An excited murmur rippled through the Rangers. Harrison’s words repeated in my head, Payback time. I unslung my shotgun.
Forrest positioned himself in front and to the right, arm raised, sword in hand. “Bugler, sound the charge.”
We Texans didn’t wait past the first bugle note. We left the Tennesseans in the mud.
With that start-of-the-race flush in my chest, I touched my horse with my spurs. It bolted with the Ranger horde over the crest of the rise. My voice joined the noise of two hundred Texans screaming the Rebel yell. The stampede thundered over rolling ground toward the enemy, an inexorable mass crashing down upon the Yankees.
The outlying Federal skirmishers had no chance. They were overrun and crushed by charging cavalrymen.
Billy, screaming at the top of his voice, lashed Izzy into the front line of horsemen who approached the steady infantry. Right beside him, I watched Bluecoats fix bayonets in preparation for the charge.
The entire front half of Texans skidded to a stop in front of the startled blue line. We discharged a hundred loads of buckshot in Yankee faces.
Rangers in the second line rode through our vanguard and emptied a hundred more shotgun loads.
Like a huge covey of quail shot into on the ground, killed and wounded fluttered about in heaps. Soldiers in the rear of the infantry line threw down their rifles and fled back to the cavalry regiment behind them.
“Eeeeha!” My Rebel yell mixed with hundreds of others.
I slung my shotgun, drew my pistol and shot a stunned sergeant in the face. Riding through the mangled blue line, I hit another Yank on the head with my Colt. The whaack sounded like a dropped watermelon. “Com’on, men, kill the bastards.” I fired the Colt until it clicked on an empty chamber. I replaced it with my fully loaded pistol.
***Win experienced a chill between his shoulder blades when the enemy cavalry came screaming down the hill. “Damn!” He gripped his sword and prepared for the onslaught.
Sergeant O’Kelly cursed when the Rebel shotguns shredded the infantry. “Holy Mary.”
Win couldn’t have been more scared if he were standing on railroad tracks watching a freight bearing down. He managed to croak, “Steady, men.”
***I rode close to Billy. We were going to run right into the surprised Yankee cavalry. Before I could think, two hundred Confederate cavalrymen crashed head-on into the Yankees.
I shot one rider off his horse, then threw myself to the side to dodge a downthrust saber before shooting the attacker in the stomach.
From the corner of my vision, I watched Billy fight. He emptied his Colt, shooting two Bluecoats off their horses. Then he yanked out the new pistol I had given him at the Commissary. Before he could fire, he had to use the pistol to parry a sword thrust by a scared-looking Yankee lieutenant. Billy shoved the officer’s arm aside and fired his pistol just as the man’s screaming horse threw up its head. The shot hit the animal’s neck. The horse reared and fell over backward on the rider.
I glanced to my right. Forrest’s slashing sword nearly decapitated a young trooper.
In my eyes, the Tennessean appeared crazed. Blood splashed the colonel’s face.
The battle ebbed. I shouted, “Billy, let’s reload.” We reined aside.
“Are you all right?”
I nodded without taking my eyes off a side scene. “Looks like Charlie has his own war going on.”
We watched a strange mini-battle taking place in the trees. A Union captain, sitting his horse, shot his revolver at Charlie who walked his own horse toward the captain, firing his Colt. Charlie had a calm smile on his face.
The captain threw down his empty weapon and shouted, “Enough! I surrender.”
Charlie smiled, “Aw hell, Captain. You’re too late.” And shot him through the head.
“We’ve all gone mad,” Billy said.
***The battle swirled over and around Win. He had feared for his life when the wild-eyed Rebel officer tried to shoot him point-blank. Win’s quick reaction in jerking up the reins had saved him but doomed his horse. Protecting his head from flying hooves, he kicked himself free from his thrashing mount.
“Lieutenant!” O’Kelly fought toward him.
Win charged toward his rescuer and leaped on the rear of O’Kelly’s horse. “Get out of here.” O’Kelly spurred back to where the main force regrouped.
Safe behind the line of Federals, Wins asked, “Who were those Reb troops?”
“Them devils were Texicans,” O’Kelly answered.